


a thousand spiders down the drain

by Byacolate



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Bullying, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Gen, Kid Fic, Lars Gottlieb is a sack of dicks, M/M, Sexism, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Children can be so cruel to boys who pick flowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a thousand spiders down the drain

Hermann had liked to pick flowers, once upon a time. His mother taught him how to make daisy chains like the ones his big sister loved to wear but never had the delicate hands to craft. Karla would smile great wide like Hermann hung the moon and kiss his forehead, call him her little mouse and sneak him a lollipop from the high cabinets he couldn’t reach.

 

Back in Bayern he had a private tutor from an early age, a soft young Austrian woman who taught him the proper latin names of the plants that grew. It wasn’t that he found her lessons interesting inasmuch as he treasured the bright feeling in the pit of his belly when it made his mother smile for him to point them out and recite their names - _Gentianella austriaca, Leontopodium alpinum, Lonicera alpigena_ \- in her garden.

                                          

She would plant little clippers in his hands, teach him to pick apart the dead leaves so the plants could thrive, tell him what each flower meant in its very own language. When he remembered all of that as well, she was so proud of him. His tutor called them fanciful when he explained that _a daisy means innocence, Fräulein_ , but she was still smiling like it pleased her in some way.

 

But all of that was back in Germany and he was here in public school and children can be so cruel to boys who pick flowers.

 

He isn't yet fluent in English, and his accent makes his classmates laugh.

 

When it becomes clear that he knows more, understands things easier, receives the teacher’s glowing praise, they’re not laughing anymore.

 

 

Vati says that it is normal for his peers to tease him when Hermann confesses his hurt to his mother. He says that little boys don't hide behind their sisters' skirts or make daisy chains or garden with their mothers. It's natural for boys to pick fights, and if Hermann doesn't fight back, it is his own burden to bear.

 

Hermann doesn't know how to tell him that he's tried to join in games with other boys, but he's always picked last by the most begrudging team leaders, and he's not tall enough to climb trees or strong enough to prove his worth.

 

Mutti is tight-lipped in a way that says she’s angry at Vati, not at Hermann, but all she has to say is, “Boys can do many things, and it’s never your fault if other people are hurtful, _liebling_.” But Vati snorts with derision and Hermann is far more afraid of his father’s disgust than he is concerned with his mother’s rhetoric.

 

So he doesn’t play with flowers anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermann is too big to hide behind Karla when the teasing of the children in class makes him want to cry, but he finds he is just small enough to tuck himself into an unnoticeable ball under one of the picnic tables at recess with a book.

 

A few faces peer at him below the table and disappear when he looks up from the book, giggling as they scurry away. He goes back to reading for all of two minutes until the faces are back, and this time they have brought friends to gawk and laugh and it makes Hermann’s stomach tighten and twist. He’s going to cry and they’ll only think that makes him more laughable.

 

But then there’s a shout and all five of his classmates stand up straight and hurry away, squawking back in angry tones, and then there’s just one face looking down at him between the bench and the table.

 

“Hey,” he says, his big green eyes going wide just about the time Hermann feels hot wet tracks drip over his cheeks. Mortified with himself, Hermann hastily scrubs a sweater sleeve over his face and the kid makes a noise of protest, ducking down and crawling under the table until he’s planted right in Hermann’s space. “No, don’t, wait,” he grunted, fishing around in the pocket of his jacket. “My daddy gave me these - here!”

 

There’s a little packet of tissues in his fist as he thrusts it toward Hermann, who eyes them dubiously. “I didn’t use them, I promise. They’re brand new. My daddy makes me take them everywhere ‘cause I get colds real easy and he doesn’t like washing all the snot from my jackets. Look, see?” He pulls a clean white tissue from the plastic packet and leans forward, reaching toward Hermann’s face.

 

Flinching violently backwards, Hermann stares at him with startled eyes. “ _Was_ \- w-what are you -”

 

“Sorry!” the tiny boy gasps, pulling back a little. “Uh, here,” he whispers, slowly placing the tissue on Hermann’s folded knee. He pats it a few times, big bright eyes watching Hermann’s face. “Wipe your nose,” he instructs, and Hermann slowly pulls the tissue out from between his knee and the kid’s hand.  

 

When he lowers his eyes shyly and blows into the tissue, he misses the beaming smile on the stranger’s face. “I’m Newt’n, but you can call me Newt if you want. Who are you?”

 

* * *

 

 Newton wasn’t in his class, though they were the same age. That was okay though, because in a class with no friends he could focus on his schoolwork, and Newton always sought him out at lunch and recess. It was probably for the best. Kids with friends in class usually got in trouble for not paying attention.

 

Hermann wondered what it meant that he got in trouble _with_ his peers _for_ paying attention.

 

“Don’t listen to them, they don’t know what they’re talking about. They’re dumb and you’re not so it makes ‘em mad.”

 

Hermann looked up at him, distracted for a moment by a ladybug crawling over Newton’s shoulder. It was hot outside, but a breeze ruffled Newton’s hair and he shoved his too-big glasses further up his nose.

 

“It is hard not to listen when they say bad things all the time,” Hermann said once the sentence made sense in his head. Newton’s brow wrinkled for a moment.

 

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. They don’t like me either ‘cause I’m smart, too. My uncle says that - that bullies are just scared on the inside of people who are better at things than they are.”

 

“But they scare _me_ ,” Hermann admitted before he feels a little shameful. If his father had heard him say such a thing, he’d be so disappointed. He’s a little disappointed in himself. “And they don’t seem scared, so it does not matter.”

 

Newton plopped down on the grass beside him and stared down at his shoes, absentmindedly ripping hanks of grass out from the ground. “You don’t have to be scared, ‘cause you’ve got me and I can fight the dumb mean kids for you, ‘kay?”

 

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Hermann rested his cheek on them and stared at the side of Newton’s face. “Okay,” he agreed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Hermann thinks his stomach is going to leap out of his throat when Karla tells Newt about the daisy chains.

 

It’s only Newt’s first time over, and he’s already going to be driven away. He knew people teased Hermann, but he hadn’t seen him do anything really weird, not yet, but now he knows and it isn’t a good thing at all.

 

Newton had been so impressed by his big back garden and all the trees there were to climb and the little pond full of colorful fish, but none of that would matter. He had seen Hermann’s room, jumped on his bed, marveled at his collection of books and the airplane models hanging from the ceiling, but it would mean nothing now that Newton knew the truth.

 

Hermann can feel Newt’s eyes on him from the other side of the koi pond and he keeps his eyes firmly rooted to a brilliant white fish, hiding half of his face between his bent knees. The disappointment that would surely replace all the awe and wonder from Newton’s face is a transformation he is not brave enough to see.

 

“That’s so cool!” Newt shouts as Hermann’s eyes flutter shut. He jerks his head up to stare at Karla and then his little friend, dumbfounded. “I want to be a bi’logist someday, I’m gonna work with plants all the time I bet! Can you make one now? Can you show me?”

 

Karla’s smile is beaming and Hermann wants to cry.

 

“I can’t,” he answers softly, looking over his shoulder. “It’s not for boys.”

 

“ _And why not?_ ” Karla says in their mother tongue, the smile all but gone from her face. Hermann knows the anger isn’t for him, but her narrowed eyes still make him anxious. “You can do whatever you like, Hermann,” she says in English, for Newton’s benefit. “Even if flowers were for girls, if you liked it, why would that matter? What is wrong with girl things?”

 

Hermann shrugs, because he cannot answer, and it hurts him a little to think on it. He does not know why, only that his father insists. He knows Karla hates their father a little bit, that she is not afraid like he is. It is times like these where he cannot answer why he fears his father’s ire so that he is afraid the most.

 

Rubbing his face against his bare knees, he does not see her come to his side, but he doesn’t fight when she pulls him to her and strokes his hair. He knows that if Newton was not disenchanted with Hermann before, he will be now that he’s seen Hermann being coddled like a baby – and yet he cannot bring himself to pull away. His sister is a comfort he’s not ready to reject; he is quite sure that she would not let him.

 

“Hold on, I’ve got some tissues,” comes Newt’s voice from too close, and Hermann looks up to find him pulling a fistful from his pocket and shoving them at Hermann. He feels silly and small, but he takes the wad of tissue and wipes at his face.

 

If his father sees, he’ll be in trouble - but perhaps with his sister and his friend on either side, his father will not see.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Hermann,” Newt whispers loudly to him from the floor, “I really like ballet.” It’s dark and Hermann can’t see more than the vague shape of Newton from the pile of blankets on the floor. He doesn’t know why Newton’s been thinking of ballet, but he isn’t one to judge. “I got ballet slippers an’ all. My uncle said it was for girls an’ my dad punched him in the arm, an’ he’s never said anything like that again.”

“Oh.” Hermann curls up, his eyes wide when the shape of Newt’s head pops up over the side of the bed. He doesn’t protest when Newt slowly creep-crawls in next to him like he’s afraid Hermann might push him out. Before he knows it, Hermann is smiling. “Can you dance?”

“Nah,” Newt giggles, “but I like to watch an’ the music is pretty. It helps me concentrate when I can’t, sometimes. I just like it, and daddy says my uncle can go jump if he wants to say something mean. He says if you like somethin’ and you’re not hurting nobody, nobody should hurt you for likin’ it.”

The weight of an arm thrown around his shoulders makes Hermann jump. It’s unfamiliar, but even though he doesn’t know what to think about it; he doesn’t dislike the touch, though, so he doesn’t try to worm away. “I know a lot about flowers,” he whispers, lowering his eyes. He feels shame coil in his chest, but a little hand pats his head like he’s a puppy to be encouraged, and haltingly he continues. “I know their scientific names and I know what they mean. I like – I like tying them together. They make my mother happy. They make Karla happy.”

“Can you show me?” Newt whispers, patting his head again. “Sometime? If you want to. I never see you do fun things.”

“I could show you,” Hermann whispers back. And tentatively he asks, “Would you like to learn?”

“Yeah!” Newt gasps, then lowers his voice to a whisper, “And teach me the names too?”

“Okay,” Hermann says, smiling privately in the dark when Newt grapples for his hand and hooks their pinkies.

“Awesome. ‘Night, Hermann.”

“Good night, Newton.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Only Skin' by Joanna Newsom: _I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain / Spiders’ ghosts hang, soaked and dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees / in tiny nooses, safe from everyone — nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done_
> 
> If you are so inclined, feel free to follow [my Tumblr](http://byacolate.tumblr.com/).


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